The Princes Council
by The Kumquat Warrior
Summary: The princes of a faraway land are having some serious problems! Might turn into a whole long story, depending on the interest rate. Read and review if you want more! Lots of future excitement planned!
1. In Which There Is A Royal Firing

The Princes Council

The Princes Council sat around a long, oval table and waited with baited breath as an older man at the head of the table stood up. The man regarded each prince with a reproving look.  
  
"I'm not pleased to see so many of you back so soon," he said, his booming voice rumbling with displeasure. One young man from the other end of the table stood up.  
  
"We just-"  
  
"Sit down!" The older man growled. With a nervous squeak, the younger man quickly obeyed.  
  
"Honestly, you call yourselves brave princes. You're nothing but pathetic good-for-nothings who happen to have kings as fathers."  
  
"Well, I wouldn't say-"  
  
"Silence!"  
  
The older man looked around the table and then cleared his throat.  
  
"Now, to business. What seems to be the problem?"  
  
The prince sitting to the man's immediate right stood up.  
  
"Sir, our tasks seem a bit impossible. We are having serious princess problems." The young man said and sat back down. The older man regarded him thoughtfully.  
  
"What sort of problems?"  
  
"Well, each one is different, Sir. Mine is a runaway princess. She refuses to stay in one place long enough for me to even learn her name! The last time she ran away, she left her shoe." The young man said, revealing a beautifully transparent glass slipper.  
  
"I see," the older man said, running his hand through his graying hair.  
  
"And what about you?" he asked the prince to his left. The prince gave a start and jumped to his feet.  
  
"Ah, Sir, my problem is that I, well, you see, my princess is kept prisoner up in a high tower. She has, ah, lovely, long, flowing, golden hair that she lets tumble down over the side of the tower from her little window at the top, ah, Sir. The only way to get into the tower and rescue her, Sir, is to, ah, climb her hair, ah, Sir." The young prince explained nervously. The older man shook his head in frustration.  
  
"Then climb it, boy!" He exclaimed. "And don't just stand there stuttering like a blundering idiot!"  
  
"I can't, sir." the prince said softly.  
  
"And why not?" challenged the older man.  
  
"I'm, ah, afraid of heights, sir."  
  
The older man heaved an exasperated sigh and shook his head disapprovingly.  
  
"What about you?" he barked at the young man next to the still stammering prince. The young man stood up.  
  
"My princess has been asleep for a hundred years. I have to kiss her to wake her up, only, my mother told me I can't kiss a girl until I'm at least 20 and I'm only 18. That's only part of the problem. You see, she's locked in a castle that's guarded with the thickest thicket I've ever seen full of thorns and bristles. Normally, this wouldn't stop me. However, I'm anemic so I can't risk pricking myself." The prince said matter-of-factly.  
  
"My princess ate a poisoned apple," chorused another prince, "and I can't go near her because I'm highly allergic."  
  
"My princess won't speak to me," sobbed yet another.  
  
"That's because her voice was taken away, dimwit!"  
  
"I don't care! If she won't talk to me, I won't talk to her!"  
  
"You people think you have problems?" snapped a rather ugly looking prince as he rose from his chair in a passionate rage, "my princess will only kiss me if I'm a frog!"  
  
"I wonder why," muttered his neighbor.  
  
"ENOUGH!" the older man cried. He looked around at the failed princes. Absolute silence filled the room as he stared at them, panting with the effort of controlling his fury. When he felt that he had calmed down enough to speak, he sat back in his chair and sighed.  
  
"Alright," he said evenly, getting to business. "Now, there are several woodcutters' sons positions available. I hereby fire you all from the prince profession and, if you will please sign this contract," he took a contract out of his bag and laid it down on the table, "you will begin your work as woodcutters' sons tomorrow morning. And don't be late!"  
  
The ex-princes stared at the man and then all glumly got to their feet. In turn, they each signed the contract and made their way dejectedly out of the conference room, all muttering under their breaths something along the lines of, "aw, bugger."


	2. In Which Prince Makes A Revolutionary Su...

In the forest they gathered, each prince livid over the dishonor he had just been shown. Fired!  
"It's outrageous!" Hamlin, Cinderella's prince, bellowed. "Simply outrageous! Why, when I was born into this kingdom, nowhere did it say in my birth certificate that I'd be subjected to such humiliation!"  
"It's purely prejudice," sniffed the pompous Clive, prince of the beautiful sleeping maiden. "That man just can't handle the upper class."  
"And you can't handle a bunch of little thorns," Gavin sniggered.  
"At least I'm not allergic to my princess!"  
Gavin lunged at Clive, but Hamlin held him back.  
"There's no fighting with Clive, remember?"  
"Right, right," Gavin muttered, shaking Hamlin off, "he's 'anemic.'"  
Clive turned red with rage.  
"I am! Really!"  
"Sure you are. And I'm Alexander the Great." Gavin sneered. "Admit it. You're just chicken."  
"Am not!"  
"Are too!"  
"Look, the only one who's chicken is poor Prince. He's the only one _scared_ of his princess!"  
Prince blanched. He was the youngest among the princes, and the smallest, and the other princes made him rather nervous, the way they were always gallivanting off fighting dragons and such and getting themselves mortally wounded. It just didn't seem all that appealing to him. In fact, Prince found that he didn't mind having to be a woodcutter's son. Still, he did not like being picked on.  
"I'm not exactly scared of _her_," he explained quietly, "I'm just scared of, well, heights. It's not my fault, really."  
Clive snorted.  
"Then who's fault is it, little Prince? Is it your mama's? Did she drop you as a baby?"  
Prince reddened.  
"Look," he said, holding his temper, if you don't like what the old man did, firing us and all, then just stage a revolt. A protest. No one's making you do anything, you know."  
Reginald, who had been silent until now in his fury, suddenly spoke up.  
"The kid's right, you know," he mused. "We could hold a revolution! A coup d'etat!"  
In truth, Reginald didn't mind being fired from Princehood, either. He rather didn't want to have to turn into a frog in order for his princess to kiss him. It was not in the least dignified, and if there was one thing Reginald was stringent about, it was about being dignified. However, the other thing Reginald really liked was wars. It was all the more dignifying to have everyone involved in a messy war while he sat, regal and dignified, in his palace. It made him look good.  
The other princes in the forest, and there were many, were all riled up by now.  
"A revolution!" they cried.  
"We'll show the old bugger!"  
"He won't mess with us anymore!"  
"Who needs princesses anyway?"  
"Hurrah!"  
"We're gonna pick the old fart up and eat him for breakfast!"  
"And then we'll spit him out and stamp on him!"  
"Yeah!"  
Prince, who did not realize his suggestion would have such an effect, was mortified.  
"No," he said loudly, "we can't...we shouldn't do that..."  
He sighed. It was no use. He was too shy and overwhelmed to make himself heard.  
"And the old man will never-"  
"Who is the old man, anyway?" Prince cried out, exasperated.  
There was immediate silence in the forest as every single prince looked down at Prince.  
"You mean you don't know?" Clive asked in a hushed voice. Prince backed away a little and began to say, "Well...I – I,"  
A bunch of the princes surrounding him began to laugh.  
"Look at the ignorant little princeling," they howled, filled to the brim with mirth. Hamlin bent down and put his arm around Prince's shoulders.  
"Let me tell you, boy," he said hoarsely in a low voice, "the story of the old man." 


End file.
